Run, Boy Run
by LiveLoveLaugh'17
Summary: "You're running away?" She asked, her voice thick with surprise. His eyes darted around in a panic she didn't understand; isn't this his world, his side? "Keep your voice down Granger, or I won't get a chance to!" Draco Malfoy runs away at the brink of war, taking a recently tortured Gryffindor with him. It was certain, he had lost all sanity. During DH, Dramione.
1. Escape

**Run, boy run. The sun will be guiding you,**  
**Run, boy run. They're dying to stop you,**  
**Run, boy run. This race is a prophecy,**  
**Run, boy run. Break out from society.**

**—"Run Boy Run", Woodkid.**

* * *

_._

_It was dark._

_Almost pitch-black, even. Nothing was visible, not even the shadows hidden amongst the curtain of black smog. But he knew they were there. Fuck, they were always there. He had been down there too long, waiting, waiting. The hollow where his soul should have been, only—_

_—wait. What was that—light? Light! _

_A sliver of sunlight seeped through a crack in the wall. There was a wall. A crack. _

_An escape. _

_Finally. _

Draco Malfoy awoke to the sound of screaming.

It was a distant, vaguely familiar screech that pierced his ears. He counted the scratches on the ceiling, waiting until the high-pitched shriek droned out. Ten seconds. It was longer than last night. They were hungry for blood.

The clock by his bed struck twelve, and not a moment later, he was out of the covers. His feet landed softly on the prickly carpet. _Lumos_ was muttered into the empty room, instantly illuminating it a bluish tint. The curtains were drawn, the windows bolted shut.

A prison. _His_ prison.

No one could see as he crouched down, reached under the bed and pulled out a rucksack.

He shook it generously, the contents creating a soft racket dulled by the thick material. He had it enchanted to disguise itself in its surroundings. It'd come in handy. Shouldering the bag, he mentally checked off the necessities. Tent, clothes, food, water, a map and various potion books _—_all shrunk to fit into the carry-on.

The hallway outside was unlit, and the elves had avoided his room as per vague request. He could hear cold laughter thread from the meeting room downstairs.

He pulled the door closed behind him, shutting with a faint click. His fingers lingered on the cool copper of the intricately engraved handle, the cold metal prickling his skin as he tried to breathe.

This was risky, fuck, this was suicide.

But he had to. He had to _try_. He wouldn't be able to live with himself, however short those remaining days may last, without knowing _what if. _

Hitching the bag higher up his shoulder, Draco carefully tread down the corridor. Half-standing, half-crouching and clinging to the walls. The stairs were fairly difficult, with the creaking floorboards threatening to betray him, but he'd managed it, allowing the shadows to envelope him on his route. He saw the doors. Right there. Calling out to him, practically opening for him to run through.

The voices and cynical laughter became louder. This was his chance. To leave while they were torturing yet another Mudblood.

The thought sent a faint shiver through his spine, as if Aunt Bellatrix has raked one of her long nails down his back. He looked over his shoulder, just in case.

Nothing. No one knew. He'd made sure none of them suspected a thing.

He was _so_ close.

But.

The Mudblood.

Cursing under his breath, he turned and made for the Malfoy cellars.

_Fucking suicide._

_._

* * *

_._

The soft sound of sobbing was the only sound in the underground room.

"Granger." He hissed, his wand ahead of him to guide the way. Something in his chest tightened, and he quickly remembered himself. "_Mudblood_?"

The crying stopped, and after a gentle hiccup, a voice spoke. "Who's there?"

The voice cracked.

Judging by the direction of the sound, he headed towards the far end, dodging a pillar and finding her curled up into a ball by the corner.

"Get up. We're leaving." He ordered sharply, the lowness of his voice threatening and misconstruing.

She scrambled away, pushing herself further into the stone wall.

"No." She whispered, but it echoed in the empty cellar. "No, no, no. I'm not letting you take me. I'm not letting you hurt me, you _Death Eater scum_."

Her words turned hysterical, and she pressed her head into her arms.

Pathetic.

Her bruised and bloody arms.

His breath hitched.

He didn't have time for this. The blood pumping in his ears and the constant ticking from the grandfather clock above ground level only put him on edge.

"Staying will only cause you torture, Mudblood. Either get up and follow me, or wait until it's _your_ turn."

The momentary pause had filled with a shrill cry from above, further punctuating his words.

"What do you want?" She said, cowering, so unlike the Gryffindor she was. "Why are you here?"

Why.

Why.

Why.

He didn't know.

His hand started shaking by his side. He shoved it into a pocket of his robes before yet another sign of weakness would be exposed to ridicule.

"I_—_I'm leaving—" The stutter was unforgivable.

She noticed his bag, eyes widening in eventual realisation.

"You're_ running away_?" Her voice was thick with emotion, most of which was surprise. The rise in her voice didn't aid his circumstance. _  
_

"Keep your voice down!" He hissed harshly, narrowing his eyes at the girl beneath him.

Beneath him, that's where she belonged.

Draco couldn't help but let the silence hang in the air for a few long seconds, as he searched the darkness for any intruders.

When he set his eyes on her again, a frozen tear had settled on the curve of her cheek.

"This is pathetic, Granger. You can come with me, or you can stay. It's your choice, I really couldn't give a fuck."

A voice in his mind threatened to argue, but he'd stopped listening to what most called a 'conscience' a while ago.

She stared at him wide eyed. She was wasting valuable time. He could have been _out_ by now.

"Harry and Ron are coming for me." Even with the impending threat of death constantly ringing in her ears, she managed to keep lace her words with confidence.

Draco almost scoffed, but it would have been too loud of a sound to make.

"They'll never make it in time."

"You don't know—"

"Face it, Mudblood. They're too late." He tilted his head slightly, calculating her change in expressions at his statement. He had struck close to home. "They were meant to be here hours ago. Long before you were imprisoned. Am I correct?"

She didn't answer, but her silence was reply enough.

Bellatrix had tortured her for minutes on end, before throwing her into the dungeons. He would know, he had heard every one of her ear-piercing screams. It was only a matter of time before they played with her some more, in an attempt to get information but also satisfy their _needs_.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I've already wasted my time with you. I'm leaving_—fuck, _I should have already left." He turned briskly, walking to the exit. He didn't look at her, only directly at the wall. "You better choose quickly, Mudblood; _you're next_."

"Why are you helping me?"

She watched as he opened the door without a creak escaping. Practise.

The question mingled with the tension in the air between them.

_Why._

He glanced at the corner once more, still refusing to answer, only to find that she no longer occupied it.

She'd appeared behind him, keeping her distance as she didn't trust him as yet. The questioning voice continued to circle his head. He couldn't pay attention to that now; there wasn't enough time to think.

He'd swiftly escaped the dungeons, Hermione at his back.

They'd made it across to the main corridor, almost at the entrance. He was about to take Granger's arm _— _he wasn't going to let her slow him down ___— _and make a run for it, since Apparating wasn't possible within the Malfoy wards, when a pang shot up his chest.

He halted, making the girl behind him bump into his back before adjusting herself.

"_What are you doing_?" She whispered with venom.

He held up a finger, eyes darting around to scope their surroundings.

"Someone's here."

"_I don't see_—" Panic rose up her throat, threatening to close her airways.

"Draco?"

And in that stilled moment, he knew they were caught.

.

* * *

.

_So close. _

His steely eyes thorned with tears as he turned around slowly, looking past the witch behind him.

Narcissa.

Thanking whatever deity was listening, he cleared his throat lightly, relaxing his shoulders as if to change the dynamics of the situation with body language.

"Mother, I was just—"

The older woman's eyes darted from her son to the witch by his elbow, clinging onto his bag as if her life depended on it. Hermione was not one to act so helpless, but under the eye of a Death Eater so close to Voldemort, she recoiled in uncontrollable fear. Finally, Narcissa's wandering eyes narrowed on the rucksack held tightly beneath pale fingers.

"You're leaving." She said smoothly, not inquiring or outrage leaking into her controlled voice. "With _her_."

Draco's mouth opened but his mind hadn't chosen any words, much to his distraught.

Narcissa nodded shortly, pulling out her wand from her robes. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, expecting an Unforgivable to hit the girl.

"Take this. Trust me, it will come in handy." She murmured in hushed tones, facing Hermione. His eyes flew open. The Gryffindor, having gained her courage back, reached out with a slightly trembling hand, wrapping her fingers around the smooth wand held out for her. She was tentative, eyeing the woman with barely concealed distrust.

A trap, she expected a trap.

The older witch clasped her fingers over the cold ones of Granger's, giving them a squeeze. "Take care of him. He'll need you."

She said it so surely, the brunette couldn't help but nod slowly in reply. She wasn't sure her mind had registered her words through the haze of uncertainty. "Mrs Malfoy—"

"Shh. You haven't much time. They're finishing up in there." Her wary eyes glanced at the room by the opposite end of the passageway. "You must hurry."

Before she could reply, Narcissa turned to Draco. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips.

"Mother—" He tried, baffled with her behaviour.

Something appeared in her hands. A fairly sized, heavy sack tied near the top. "This will be enough." Was all she said, before slipping it into his bag with ease.

His shoulder slouched with the added weight.

Her slender hand extended to place on her son's cheek. "Stay safe. I love you. Always remember that."

"You—"

"—_go_." She told them sternly, creating distance between them as she stepped back. "Go. _Now_."

Draco didn't give her a chance to change her mind, as he was taking the Mudblood's arm and pulling her away with him.

.

* * *

.

"_Obscuro_."

He turned his head to see Granger point his mother's wand at the various portraits lined on the walls, blindfolding them. If he wasn't out of his fucking mind with fear, his mouth would be taken over by an impressed smirk.

She glared at him, before her eyes dropped to her arm just above her elbow, where he still held her.

He jerked his hand back, as if he'd been burned. He might as well have, touching a Mudblood.

They were against the wall, at the last corner before their exit. The portraits started murmuring, whispering about not being able to see. They had to make it out before they threw fits and disrupted the Death Eaters.

"On three." She said.

He rolled his eyes, whispering harshly, "_Three_," before she had the chance to object.

They ran.

They ran because their lives depended on it.

The sound of whooshing wind filled Draco's ears as his feet hit the ground hard and fast. He lengthened his arms out, and pushed open the brooding doors, to the dark, gloomy weather outside. It wasn't a burst of sunlight and singing birds, but it was freedom nonetheless.

He knew there were wards, but he had practised the counteracting spells for weeks.

The towering iron gates were locked. Their final frontier.

His feet slowed to a stop when he approached them, clutching at the rods until his knuckles turned white. His lungs were threatening to explode.

Hermione was doubled over next to him, clutching her knees, her breaths hard and rapid.

"Climb." Was the raspy voice that sounded over their harsh breathing. He didn't realise his voice could be so hoarse. Not giving it another thought, Draco threw his sack over the gate.

It landed softly on the other side, letting him know of the lack of spells around the entrance, or in this case — _escape_.

The gate was cold and slippery, but he felt himself reach the top. He straddled the peak, moving to jump down, when his palm clamped down on a makeshift pike for balance, tearing through skin. He groaned, but didn't allow himself the leisure of inspecting it.

There was a large woods by the Malfoy Manor, as he'd discovered months before.

Blood trickled down his wrist, but he paid it no heed. Already picking up the baggage and barely checking to see if _she_ was with him, he took off down the left path.

He felt her catch up to him, assume his destination being the woods, and disappear into them a split second before him.

Draco muttered a concealing charm, so at least they wouldn't be found in the woods, if anything. Later, yes. But that was not his concern for now.

Bracing a tree trunk, quite far into the forest now, he tried to regain his breath. His lungs were on fire, his hands were on fire. From the corner of his eye, he saw her annoyingly bright clothes, slumped against a nearby tree.

He'd done it.

He was out.

_He'd escaped._

_._

* * *

_Disclaimer: Everything but the plot of this fanfiction belongs to JK Rowling. _

_It's me again. _

_This is my first attempt at a dramatic/angst-ridden story. So I should warn you, at times, I will go completely off my rocker and, oh I don't know, stuff some fluff in somewhere or something just as ridiculous. _

_To avoid any misunderstandings or confusion, I should come right out and make a few things clear: _

_o I am not going to stick to the plot. Quite the opposite. It will be there, as some sort of basis, but a lot of things will be untrue to the story and practically whatever my mind comes up with._  
_o This is set right after Hermione is tortured by Bellatrix. Remember that? Yeah, me too. *shudders*_  
_o In this, the Golden Trio split up right before Hermione's capture. They are supposed to come for her, but obviously, don't make it in time. Hermione is kept as a sort-of pawn to lure them to her._  
_o Draco is running away around the same time, his feelings on the War still unclear as yet. _

_Shoot me your questions if you have any. Though, I hope the upcoming chapters will tie up any loose strings. _

_All of that aside, what did you think? _

_Always,**  
****—**LiveLoveLaugh._


	2. Scream

**And it finds me,  
****The fight inside is coursing through my veins,  
****And it's raging,  
****The fight inside is breaking me again.**

**—"Nothing and Everything", _Red._**

* * *

.

"You're bleeding."

The words sliced through the eery silence, with the occasional crackling of branches under their feet, or an owl hooting in the distance. She was attempting to converse, much to Draco's chagrin.

According to the pocket watch ticking away consistently in his robes, they had been walking for fourty minutes, now. Fourty minutes into the forest, and the weight which had the muscles in his shoulders strained so much that they were hunched; started to fade. It wasn't long before he felt his previous, confident persona creep back to his exterior.

He pretended not to have heard, but the feeling of her eyes boring into the back of his head made him give in reluctantly.

"Yes." Was the curt reply, when he noticed the blood pooling in his hand. He wiped it on his trousers, but the wound seemed to be open and gushing.

Draco halted, watching the trees. Searching, searching for the first one he'd marked.

Years ago, when he was but a young child, one of the House Elves had accompanied him to the grounds. He remembered darting off with a mischievous glint in his young eyes, and finding this flock of looming trees. He had used his wand and etched his initials into the particularly rough bark of a tree, before he was dragged back to the Manor to be reprimanded.

Using that innocent act of a toddler, Draco had routed his freedom.

This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment escape.

There was a small clearing, big enough to camp in, right after the first tree — that he remembered stumbling upon.

_But, where?_

In the dark of the night, with only their wands as a light source, it was quite difficult to find one tiny inscription amongst the rough wood of the countless trunks surrounding him.

"This," Her voice sounded over the rattling of leaves and crunching of stones under their feet. "Cannot be a coincidence..."

He turned to the direction of her voice, holding his wand out as a candle. She was by a large trunk, running her fingers over a section of the bark in interest.

She had found it. A piece of his childhood lay under her fingers.

Running his nail over it, once reaching her and her subsequently backing off, he decided where they should head.

"Go straight."

"What?" She asked, her plaited hair flipping behind her shoulders as she faced him with confusion clear in her bright eyes.

"You heard me, Granger." With that, he brushed past her, ignoring the pang that shot through his chest at their momentary proximity, and stalked forward.

"You're still bleeding, Malfoy."

"Don't pretend to care."

He ducked under a branch barrier, appearing on the other side with quite the spring in his step. He was out. He was finally out. He was going to get killed, but fuck, he was_ out._

Hermione followed suit, keeping up with ease. Her eyes continued to travel down to his bleeding palm. He fisted the hand.

"No, that'll make it worse." She gasped, watching drops of blood dot the dark forest floor. The bluish tint of their glowing wands only made the blood look luminescent against the darkest aspects of nature.

He spun on her, his fair skin almost glowing in the moonlight. "Will you _shut the fuck up_?"

"Not until you let me see that." She gestured to his hand, something south of concern etching onto her face. Her voice was starting to stomp on his last nerves.

"Fucking brilliant, Mudblood." He drawled, turning away from her and winding through the towering branches. "Act like the all-caring, all-knowing _princess_ everyone claims you are."

"Well, you're doing a bloody good job of acting the obnoxious, idiotic bastard everyone knows _you_ are."

He'd forgotten he was speaking to someone capable of an intellectual argument. Anger pumped through his veins, fuelling his glare and signature scowl.

"Stop fucking talking to me like you know me, Mudblood." He hissed, leering over her. "You_ do not_ know me."

Hermione stood her ground, facing him off in the middle of nowhere. "I know you _saved my life_—"

"I did no such thing—"

"Yes, you—" Her voice rose with his, every word getting louder.

"Do not tell me what I did and did not _do_, Mud—"

"Mudblood, Mudblood, _Mudblood!_" She screamed at him, hysterical already. "If you thought _so_ lowly of me, Malfoy, you would have never saved—"

"Stop saying that! I have _never_—"

"What? Thought about someone else, for once?" Their fight echoed through the night, and he could only pray that they were off the grid. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you _saved. My. Life._"

"AND I WILL END IT_ RIGHT_ NOW—"

Hermione could see his snowy hair glowing in the moonlight, and she tried not to let it distract her as she stood him off. "Try me."

He had her against a tree in moments. "You_ little bitch._ I could kill you in second." He sneered down at her. "_Worse_ in two."

Her heart pounded, the blood pumping in her ears making him realise that she was scared. Anger and traces of fear swirled within her hazel irises.

"You're lucky I didn't leave you there to rot."

Tears stung her eyes, but she withheld them, finding her voice. "_I hate you_."

Draco stepped back, instantly chastising himself for getting so close to her. Brushing his robes off with a sneer, as if her closeness had somewhat infected him, he turned away briskly and focused on the plan. The plan. The route. Anything but that Mudblood Granger.

"Why did you do it?"

He'd heard it, clear as day. But, choosing to stare blankly at the circle of light tracing his wand and ignore her question, was the only way he could think clearly.

He would ignore her. Her and her fucking questions.

Because he had no answers.

.

* * *

.

The Undetectable Extension Charm was one Hermione was familiar with.

Apparently one Malfoy had mastered, she realised as she stepped into the tent he had pitched with a flick of his wand. It was terribly dark outside, but inside, she saw lanterns light up the interior.

Draco blinked repeatedly, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

The heaviness of his eyelids struck him then. The last few months had involved throwing himself into this escape, planning, checking and rechecking every slight angle. Never in his hours of pretending to give a fuck about his father's wishes or acting as if the mark on his arm didn't make him want to kill himself repeatedly; had he thought he would be out. Sure, it had been a fantasy. One couldn't allow themselves to start believing in fantasies, however.

Hermione scoped her surroundings, almost bare but more than bearable.

Almost colourless, the tent's only hues were from the lanterns lining the makeshift roof. The lack of a homely atmosphere was not surprising; his house had seemed like a cage to her, void of life or laughter. So unlike the Weasley tent she had awed at earlier in her life. However, to her intrigue, there were a few practical items of furniture dotted around the large, open space. There was no furniture on the ground level, only a large space of cold, hard flooring.

Three parts of the tent were uplifted from the wood paneled floor, at a slightly higher level with a few steps for ascending. Rooms.

One held a large table with a wooden chair tucked into it. There was a lamp, drawers that seemed empty and a small, empty bookshelf she found herself eyeing up longer than everything else. There was another 'room', where rested what she suspected was a Queen sized, mahogany bed and a plain wooden chest. Lastly, one seemed to be the makeshift bathroom, with a sink, toilet and a pool startlingly similar to the Prefect pool at Hogwarts.

Nothing of privilege or leisure, except of course the pool and furniture spotted around. He only had to live for himself. And for one, this seemed enough. Enough to prevent himself from turning insane, but also enough to be a hidden safe haven of a privileged boy.

Draco wordlessly drew the curtains for the entrance, charming it so it wouldn't open from the outside and shielding it with the trusty Disillusionment charm. Trying not to stumble or pass out from exhaustion, he ignored the girl completely, walking past her and onto the room which seemed the most like a study. He dropped his bag onto the desk with a loud clatter, not even cringing at the noise as he unzipped and unlatched the various pockets.

Quills and ink pots, parchments rolled up and in various sizes were strewn across the wood in seconds. Spell and potions books were shoved into the bookshelf. She even saw him pull out a state-of-the-art Firebolt and place it by the chair.

Whilst he was unpacking loudly, now throwing clothes into the chest in the 'bedroom', Hermione wondered if she should run.

_Run, and go where?_

What she had to come to terms with was that she wasn't a prisoner. She was a runaway, like him. And she couldn't run from someone who quite literally saved her life, however much of an evil bastard he might be.

It was too late to do anything else, and even though she was starving, she started to shrug off her jacket and drop it onto the floor.

His head snapped towards her at the sound of metal buttons hitting the hardwood.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Glaring, she bit out. "_I think_ I'm going to sleep."

"There's no bed for you."

She crouched to the floor, folding her jacket up until it was passably rectangular, feeling his eyes bore holes into her skull the whole time. She pulled off her bag in a swift motion, and it rattled with the echo of various items inside.

"I don't need a bed." Hermione said quietly, unzipping her hoodie, quite gritty and dirty after her escape. She didn't take it off, remembering her tiny, beaded bag by her foot and reaching out to snatch it into her hands.

He had appeared in front of her. He lightly kicked the purse, and she looked up with a scowl.

"What's in the bag?" Draco demanded.

"None of your business." She stated, standing up and taking the purple pouch with her. She fisted it in her hand.

"Give me the bag, Granger."

Most of the items she used the bag to hold were with Harry and Ron. The cloak, Perkin's tent, the sword, their change of clothes. She'd given it to them before she had been captured, just in case they would be taken off her. They didn't agree, but she had insisted. She didn't have much to hide. Harry and Ron could go about finding the remaining Horcruxes without her.

And without her, they will.

"I told you, Malfoy. It's none of your business." She hissed at him, so easily irked by him. He expected everything to be handed to him on a silver platter, and that was certainly not what he was getting with her.

He stepped closer, muttering dangerously low. "I will tell you one more time, Mudblood. Give me the bag, or I will take it myself."

She faced him off for one, two, three long moments.

Sighing, Hermione shoved past him and went to the desk, where she started unloading her supplies. Draco followed through, bracing his hands on the back of the chair, watching her carefully as she reached inside the dainty purse.

A small bottle of dittany. Polyjuice. A pair of extra jeans, a thick sweatshirt, a long sleeved top and a dress. Unable to help it, the image of her walking down the steps, clothed in that stupidly bright dress entered and stayed in his mind. There was more, however. Some robes, and then an endless pile of books.

_Spellman's Syllabary; The Monster Book of Monsters; The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts; Break with a Banshee; An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe; Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and, of course, _Hogwarts: A History._

"Merlin," He breathed, running a finger down the various titles. "You carry around a library."

"You're not far off." She said instantly, eyeing his bookshelf that seemed all too empty.

He looked up at her from his position leaning down towards the books; and she at him. They'd found common ground.

No.

Blinking, he narrowed his eyes and pushed himself away. "That's all?"

In reply, she tipped the bag over and shook it over the table. Nothing came out, proving her point.

"That's all."

He nodded once, turning away and stalking away. With a curse under her breath, she started to place everything back into her endless purse. Some of it would come in handy to him, that was for sure.

After thinking it through ten times, she decided to place the bag in one of the desk's drawers.

"Your turn." She called out to him, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

He turned back to her and sneered. "What?"

"Oh, you heard me Malfoy. Let me see what's inside _your_ bag."

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes. She was insane. "Don't even think about it, Granger."

"It's only fair."

"You're going to pull some 'fairness' bullshit on me?" He almost laughed, picking up his bag and shoving it under the bed. "Get to sleep, Mudblood. Oh, and the wand." He held his hand out expectantly.

"No." She grit out through clenched teeth. He knew just how to get under her skin. "I need it for—"

"—killing me?"

"—_protection_."

He stalked towards her. "Don't argue with me—"

"I will do whatever I please—"

"Then why don't you _fuck off_—"

"Trust me, there's nothing stopping me from leaving you here to die."

"Leaving _me_? I'm fine by myself. Better, even. You won't _survive_ alone. Why, you don't even have anywhere to go." He smirked, and there was only coldness and hatred in the gesture. "Your precious Pothead and Weasel left you. They _left you,_ Mudblood. Looks like they really don't care, afterall."

Tears pooled behind her eyes. Clenching her jaw tightly, she made sure they didn't dare to escape. She wasn't going to show weakness, not in front of _him_. Pulling out the wand his mother gave her, she pointed it at him. He didn't show any emotion, his expression collected and cold as usual.

She reached him, pressed the tip of the wand to his chest and growled the next few words. "Come near me, and I'll kill you."

"You _little_—"

"Or have you forgotten how good I am with a wand?" She poked the wand further into his skin. His eyes widened just that little fraction. But she noticed. "Thought so."

She set up on the floor, her head propped up with her jacket, her hoodie unshed and working as a blanket. She clutched the wand in her hand tightly, and he knew she wouldn't let it go even in the deepest of sleeps. Turning her body away from him, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to scream.

Draco seethed, sitting by the foot of the bed and lacing his fingers together in front of him.

He stifled a scream.

.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Everything but the plot of this fanfiction belongs to JK Rowling. _

_Pwoah. The amount of reviews I've gotten already. Really blew me away, they did. I will reply to them as soon as I can, once these blasted exams are over and done with. Honestly, I wrote this chapter as quickly as I could so I wouldn't keep you waiting too long. _

_Those of you who also read ABAB, don't fret. I've not forgotten that story. In fact, I don't think I am capable of forgetting it. I'll update it as soon as I can. _

_Remember, this will not, by any means, be story-accurate. Just keep that in mind before you come charging at me with a sword, alright?_

_Again, if you have any questions; talk to me. Trust me, I won't bite. _

_Always,_  
_—LiveLoveLaugh. _


	3. Filth

**No matter what we breed,**  
**We still are made of greed,**  
**This is my kingdom come,**  
**This is my kingdom come.**

**—"Demons", Imagine Dragons.**

* * *

.

Draco didn't sleep.

Partly because he couldn't stand the thought of being vulnerable to a fully armed Hermione Granger.

Partly because he was on edge about the danger he'd just put himself, his mother and even _her_ in.

He was so fucking exhausted, it was downright diabolical that sleep refused to sweep him away into subconsciousness. Then again, it was a relief to not be tormented by his recurring nightmares. Thinking about it now, he'd rather be an insomniac.

Grey eyes stared at the tent ceiling. It was a colourless colour, one that reminded him of nothing but occupied his mind enough to not think of everything else.

He wasn't sure what time it was; three in the morning or ten in the evening. No, it was all a blur. Too blurry to fathom coherent thoughts. Even if he could, he knew they would drift to the girl currently asleep on the floor. The way she pretended to actually give a fuck about his bleeding hand which he easily fixed with a healing charm, unnecessarily irked by her little _act_—

"Malfoy?"

Ignoring her, he tried to fake slumber.

He'd decided the only way the days would pass without them ripping each other's throats out, was to completely disregard her existence and pray that she would do the same. But it was as if she couldn't keep her goddamn mouth shut. He couldn't figure out what in Merlin's name possessed her to try and speak to him, but he wanted to crush that urge with his bare hands.

What was he even thinking when saving—freeing—no, _taking_ her in her time of despair—oh, he was fucking _pathetic_.

"Malfoy, I know you're awake." She spoke louder this time, irritably.

Maybe if he squeezed his eyes shut tight enough, she'd piss off.

"Malfoy, I swear on Godric, you better answer—"

"—Oh, for fuck's sake!" He groaned loudly, unable to stand her annoyingly soft voice any longer. He jerked, sitting up on the bed so he could scowl at her. "_What_? What do you _want_, Mudblood?"

His hair was tousled, though slightly dirty with dust as some wisps fell over his forehead into his startlingly grey eyes. He hadn't even changed his clothes to his usual sleepwear, too distraught and elated to go into routines.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, as if ignorant of the face that _she_ had woken him from his nonexistent sleep.

If she was going to just fucking _sit _there, and not elaborate on why she decided to push him to the brink of suicide, he was going to get rid of the pest which was Hermione Granger, _really soon. _

"Do you hear that?"

"Yes. It's the never-ending drone of a Gryffindor Mudblood." Sneering, he rolled his eyes. "You're going to have to be a little more specific—"

"—Those sounds coming from outside the tent." She looked towards the entrance of the tent, clenching the wand in her hand tightly so she didn't lash out at the infuriating git she had the _pleasure_ of being rescued by.

"You're not serious. You think I wouldn't notice bleeding _noises_ from—"

There was a rustling in the trees outside, stopping Draco's words short. He sat up, ears tuned to hear any intruders. Ignoring her and the smug smile that was very likely to be found settled on her lips; his gaze turned to walls of the tent.

It didn't matter if it was an enemy or the wind; he was already lacing on his shoes.

"What—"

"Get up, we're moving." He told her vaguely, throwing the covers back over the mattress and digging out his bag from under the bed before stepping down the steps at a brisk pace.

She scrambled to collect her things, but he stopped her with a raised hand, indicating he wasn't giving her time. Defiant as ever, Hermione pulled on her jacket and shouldered her bag before following him out.

Barely out the drape, she watched as the tent behind her shrunk and wrapped itself up to a compact, handy case which he pocketed swiftly.

He lit his wand and led the way without a glance in her direction. After a minute of catching up with his long strides, she stumbled over some rocks, unbalanced momentarily. He cast an irritated glare over his shoulder. It was in the middle of the night, for Heaven's sake. He was delusional if he expected athleticism.

"Malfoy, where are we go—"

"Maybe if you would shut up, you'd realise there is no '_where'_." He spun on her suddenly, and she collided with him. Stepping back, he brushed his clothes off. "We're in the middle of the fucking forest, Granger. We're going wherever the bloody hell we can."

"You know what I mean, Malfoy." She crossed her arms, mostly because the chill had seeped through to her skin. "You have a map. I know you have some sort of plan. Otherwise this would completely—"

"—Ridiculous?" He laughed shortly, emptily. "Welcome to the real world, Princess."

"I don't know what delusion you're operating under, but I am thoroughly aware of the _real world, _Ferret_._" Hermione spat at him, tired of his attitude. "It's death and pain and _war_."

"How poetic." Said Draco dryly. He turned away from her again, unable to stand her bright eyes any longer.

She grabbed his elbow, waiting until he had to turn back around. "Stop avoiding the question."

"Don't fucking touch me, _filth_."

Her grip tightened before quickly loosening and jerking shoved past him, wand lit up ahead of her.

He watched her disappear into the trees.

.

* * *

.

The rest of the night — or was it day — was spent in silence.

Draco kept them moving through what seemed to be an infinite forest. It was an act of suspiciousness and fear, but his childhood had morphed him into someone incapable of trust. Even in himself.

The night passed on to day without him speaking a word to the girl that escaped along with him. The sun seeped through branches above, though the vision of the sky was cut into irregular strips by cross-linking branches. The distance his brisk pace and long strides made her have to practically jog behind him. Hermione had realised the stamina he pulled out endlessly was understandable as soon as she remembered that he was Slytherin Quidditch Seeker and honorary Captain. It was soon dawn when Draco decided to show mercy and give themselves a break.

She didn't know what day it was, let alone the time. Time was an irrelevant backdrop to the life of a fugitive.

He slumped down onto a nearby rock, tipping his head back to rest on the bark behind him. Catching her breath, she leaned against an opposite tree, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself not to see _red_.

Unzipping his bag and plucking out a flask, he took a large swig.

Hermione tried to drag her eyes away, but her throat was so dry and rough she found herself staring.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her over the bottle, before swallowing hard and pulling the rim from his moistened lips.

Wordlessly, he held the flask out for her.

She glared. "Careful, Malfoy. I'm sure you wouldn't want my _filth_ all over your drink."

"Just take it, Granger."

"I'd rather not contaminate you, Ferret."

He set the flask down, furrowing his eyebrows. "Grow up for a fucking minute, Granger—"

"How _dare_ you?" She seethed, swallowing to get her voice less hoarse. "_I_ should grow up? You're the one who can't let go of childish prejudices—"

"It's really more of a _fact_." He growled through clenched teeth, standing up slowly. "Your blood is _dirty_. You are _filth_. You are below me in _every way_, understand Mudblood?"

"YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS BASTARD—"

"It's time you come to terms with your status, don't you think?" His voice adopted a cold, empty tone she felt prickle down her spine.

She stomped up to him, so close it was getting harder to breathe. "Listen here, Malfoy. I am a Mudblood and I am _proud_."

He knew a thing or two about pride.

"You? _You_ are the filth here. You are everything wrong with the world, and you _disgust_ me, Malfoy." She had this pent up for far too long; it was all rushing out in a wave of pain and frustration.

_He_ didn't know who he was, what he was anymore. What could she possibly know.

"So fuck with me," She growled, digging her heel into his toes. He tried not to double in pain or let a wince of weakness escape. "And I swear to Merlin, I won't hesitate in spreading my filth."

She wouldn't touch him, he was sure.

Her glossy eyes shone brightly in the morning light, specs of anger and determination evident in them as much as his reflection.

Was he _sure_?

He saw himself scowling, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched tightly. His father. He looked like his _father_.

And what a disgusting reflection it was.

.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Everything but the plot of this fanfiction belongs to JK Rowling._

_I am seriously loving this dark stuff. I feel like I am transitioning to the dark side. I hear they have cookies? _

_A very short chapter, I know, I know. But I thought it would be best to end it where I did._

_The response I've gotten from you wonderful people so far has been ridiculously encouraging. Thank you. _

_Drop me a review on what you thought of this teeny-tiny chapter, mmkay. _

_Always,  
_—_ LiveLoveLaugh. _


	4. Break

**And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge,**  
**And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground,**  
**And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain,**  
**And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away.**

**—"Breathe Into Me", _Red_.**

* * *

.

One of the things Draco had deliberately not packed, was a mirror.

He stared into the one in the bathroom he had forgotten about, as the sunshine seeped through the tent's walls, cursing himself for being so unprepared for his own reflection.

It wasn't that he disliked how he looked. In fact, he was very much aware of how strikingly handsome his features had become over the years. Sharpening and softening in the most impossible of ways, he knew his smooth pale skin stretched over a gently sloped nose and high cheekbones. His eyes, a deep grey were imperceptibly alluring and bright despite the darkness hidden in their depths. He understood his petal-shaped lips which naturally turned down at the ends had girls fawning for a taste. His hair had developed a mind of its own over the years, refusing to be slicked back or parted in any way on his scalp. Instead, it hung in gentle, platinum strands over his forehead and into his eyes, the tendrils wispy and straight, lately tousled as if purposely messy.

Then there was the famous Black smile. Apparently any descendant of the Black family had a certain smile that was devilishly seductive. Torn between an actual grin and a smirk, it was the perfect blend of edgy and boyish. Devious and deceptively innocent.

So no. Draco Malfoy did not dislike his face.

He didn't hate himself either. It wasn't possible to be so incorrigibly arrogant and self-deprecating at once.

But he did hate the man he saw.

_Boy_. It was not a man he looked at; but a weak, spineless coward undeserving of adulthood but thrown into it forcefully. He saw a slave to Voldemort, a mindless lackey of the Dark Lord with nothing to offer but a lifetime of worthless devotion. There was the mask of a high and mighty pureblood, but underneath that, there was a little boy crying out for help.

It made him _sick_.

Taking a shuddering, shallow breath, Draco braced each side of the sink so tightly his knuckles turned whiter than his already snowy skin. His eyes focused on the drain hole in the sink until it was nothing but a blur in the presence of stinging tears. They settled at the brim, his eyelashes feeling heavy. Profiles of the people he knew swam through his mind, making him dizzy and almost sway off his firmly planted feet.

_You dishonour the Malfoy name, son._

His father didn't even know the meaning of the title. He caught a glimpse of Lucius in himself, and that's all it took to break him.

_Stay safe. I love you. Always remember that._

His mother had never agreed with the ways of Voldemort, but she didn't intend on disobeying Lucius anytime soon. She had claimed to have 'loved him too much', which Draco had highly doubted. Lucius wasn't capable of earning such an emotion. But she'd always attempted to be supportive, nonetheless. It wasn't her fault she was imprisoned just as much as him. Merlin, he hoped she was alright.

_You are the filth here. You are everything wrong with the world, and you disgust me, Malfoy._

Granger's words had a larger impact on him than he could have anticipated. It wasn't that he cared what she thought of him, she was completely irrelevant. It was that she put all of his pain and insecurities into words. It was that she was saying aloud the truth.

And the truth was too much to bear.

Purely unintentional, his eyes drifted back to the glass in a momentary lapse of logic. His gaze locked with the one of the boy in the mirror and—

—It all fell apart.

For days he had felt so tightly strung, on the brink of losing it, though grappling at any and every sane thought to keep himself from throwing everything away. It had taken a large deal of self-control, patience and mental stability. But now, as if he'd pulled at a stray thread, the stitching that kept him from _losing it_ unravelled within him.

His hands shook uncontrollably, slightly at first, but more vigorously when he tried to control them. It was his fault for trying. He had no control now. No power, no say, not even in with his own body. Lungs burning, he tried to gasp for air, but no breath seemed enough to fill the hole in his chest. Everything was spinning, fading and darkening and_ just too much_ for him to handle.

The Draco in the mirror was smirking at him. How was that _possible_? He was sure he was panting, bloodshot eyes widened wildly and cheeks blazing with the blood rushing to them. Then how in Merlin's name was Mirror Draco smirking, eyebrows elegantly raised and expression cool and collected? Mirror Draco's lips shaped into words, but he couldn't hear them. They rang in Voldemort's voice clearly through his murky head, however.

_Break, little Malfoy._

"No—no—" He started muttering, the words flowing out recklessly. He was losing it, he was going insane. He was _insane_. "_no—_"

Mirror Draco laughed mockingly at him.

"_NO_!"

Quick as lightning, though completely unaware of the action, his fingers curled into a fist and—

_Smash!_

The Draco in the mirror cracked into a dozen distorted pieces, his smile shattering into tiny shards of glass. His ears were ringing, the blood pumping hard in them. There was more than one of him now, of different sizes in different irregular pieces, staring back at the real one. Who _was_ the real one? He didn't know. He didn't _know_.

Thick red liquid trickled into the eyes of the various Dracos, but they seemed unaware.

Slowly, he looked down at his fist; the skin torn and painted in red.

_Malfoy_. There was a distant drone in the back of his mind, but he paid it no attention.

The skin on his knuckles were ripped apart, blood oozing out of them and covering his whole hand in 'pure' blood.

"Malfoy!"

The thought made him laugh. Pure blood. It just looked like _blood_. Short barks of laughter escaped his lips and even though he knew they sounded hysterical, they were filling the air.

The curtain to the bathroom was suddenly yanked back, a figure emerging into the space.

"Malfoy?" The voice was soft and soothing, though laced with worry and what was that?—_fear_. "Oh Merlin. What did you _do_?"

The laughter wouldn't stop, as he stared at his fingers and only his fingers. They kept bubbling out whilst hot tears dropped onto his hand, watering the blood.

A warm hand reached out and gripped at his wrist. He was numb everywhere, _everywhere_ but where the stranger's skin met his. That's where his nerves sparked, where the blood rushed to, where he felt _alive_.

Willing his eyes to tilt up, he caught a glimpse of the person the hand belonged to.

Granger.

She was speaking, her lips were moving and her eyes were shiny, but he couldn't hear her. The ringing was too loud. His heart pounding was too loud. The voices were too loud.

She was hazy at the edges, less vivid each passing millisecond. He watched confusedly as the darkness licked at her, slowly, then faster until she disappeared.

Everything was spinning. That wasn't normal. The ground felt ripped away from underneath him, and before he could decipher what was reality and what was a trick of his mind, he felt himself tumbling down a hole into nowhere.

And it all went black.

.

* * *

.

Silence.

That was the first stage in his recovery. He had experienced enough breakdowns to know the transition back into the cruel reality. The muddled up thoughts and sounds had all droned out after a while, and it was eerily silent in his head.

His eyelids felt glued to his eyes, but when he managed to open them, he wished he hadn't.

It was then that he realised the slow warmth spreading through his body as it started to function to consciousness. Blood rushed to muscles which felt the weakest and his head swam with a swarm of thoughts that was suddenly stopped short with the sight in front of him.

A second or so of adjusting to the brightness of the day, his eyes greedily feasted on his surroundings, trying to piece together logical thoughts.

Oh, his bed. That's where he was. With his lower torso under a thin blanket, his hidden fingers fingered the soft fabric he was cocooned in, vaguely wondering how in Merlin he got here.

The sore hand, however, was in someone else's gentle hold.

Refraining from flexing his finger muscles, his eyes travelled from the nursing hand to the elbow it belonged to, and further up to the fixated and focused gaze of his cuts. Her unbraided hair shielded her face from his unwavering eyes, and as if she'd overheard his thoughts, she swiftly pulled back a lock of messy chestnut hair to tuck behind an ear.

He blinked as her profile came into view, unwilling to believe it.

_Salazar save him._

Her alabaster skin, sun-soaked and almost radiant in the warm hue, softly slanted over supple features the grime and dirt couldn't hide if it tried. Large honey eyes narrowed in concentration at his stinging knuckles, long eyelashes kissing flushed cheeks whenever she blinked. Her teeth snagged the plush flesh of her bottom lip as she held up his hand to her curious eyes with delicate fingers. Her cupid-bow lips had suffered from dehydration whilst at the Manor, but the pink tongue that constantly darted out and swiped over them seemed to be healing them quickly. There was a splattering of barely-there freckles across her cheekbones, and he realised he must have been staring _hard_ to notice such detailed features.

Skin brushed skin as she whispered healing charms under her breath and the open wounds on his hand stitched back up. The muscles in his upper arm bunched at the contact, but Draco gathered whatever self control he had left to keep her under the delusion that he was still unresponsive. He didn't want to think about why he working so hard to watch her longer, and like every other time a betraying thought invaded his mind: it was shoved back.

Her thumb brushed over his knuckles gingerly, as if she was worried he would break.

Because she _saw_ him break.

Why did she have to do that. Why did she have to _touch_ him. He noticed in horror as his body reacted to her touch; her soothing, promising touch. A shiver ran down his spine, and without approval, his fingers twitched in her palm.

Head whipping around, her eyes snapped to his, catching them before he could pretend any further. Brown locked with grey and the breath was knocked out of his lungs. Unable to look away, he found the way she looked straight_ at him_ had his heart threatening to shatter his ribcage. Emotions swam through her glossy eyes in a flash; surprise, relief, guilt and finally, pity.

Of course.

Brought crashing down from his swirling thoughts, he realised the reality of things. She was _pitying_ him, and like every other fucking person who dared to; she was going to regret it.

"You're awake—" Hermione rushed out, instinctively gripping his fingers tighter as they were well on their way to being healed.

He snatched his hand back, the skin quickly craving the warmth she enclosed them in earlier as the cold pricked at him. "Sorry to disappoint, Mudblood." Draco hissed at her, angry at her, at himself, at everything.

Shaking her head absently, she tried to reach for his hand again, but at his cold scowl, her hand stopped mid-air. "Are you okay?"

Draco ripped the blanket off, feeling all too warm and all too cold. He stood up, knocking over some pillows as his head swam. Biting back a groan, he flexed his fingers and barged past her, almost toppling her chair over.

She followed him in shock, stopping a feet behind him in the middle of the tent. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. Are you _alright_?"

"What, going to rub salt into the wound?" His lip curled. "Planning to hold this over me, hmm, Mudblood?"

"What are you talking about?" She had the nerve to say.

"Fuck me." A cold bark of laughter left his battered lips. "Mudblood's playing dumb."

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms in a moment of fury before loosening them and swallowing loudly. "If you're talking about earlier—I'm in no place to judge—"

"Front row seat to your enemy's turmoil. Forgot to ask: how _was_ the show?"

"That's not—"

"Don't fucking _pity_ me, bitch."

Clenching her jaw, Hermione spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm not pitying you, Malfoy. We're in the middle of a war. You have every right to show weakness once in awhile—"

"I was _not_ showing weakness." He said lowly, dangerously, eyes flaming.

"Oh, get over yourself—"

"_What, _did you just say to me?"

And just like that, with his superior tone, with his arrogant and alluring demeanour, he made her snap.

She took a shaky breath, fingers wringing together roughly in front of her. "I can't take this anymore."

"Do you mind?" He said blandly, inwardly celebrating a twisted sort of victory. "I can't think over the constant shrill of your voice."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" She screamed at him, ready to hex him if need be. "You sadistic, fowl cockroach."

"Those words seem eerily familiar. Recycling used material? I deemed you better than that."

"I'm trying to help you, Malfoy! Why can't you just _let me_?"

"Don't do me any favours, Granger. I'm perfectly capable of disgusting _myself_, you don't need to—"

Her voice inherited a soft, helpless tone. "Enough is enough. I'm not arguing with you every minute of every day. I'm sick of this, and frankly, I'm tired of living like this." Her eyes rose to meet his. "I should leave."

"_Leave_?" His heart had somehow crawled into his throat. "And where the fuck would you go?"

"Does it matter to you?"

He merely pursed his lips, willing the words to remain trapped.

She nodded, as if she understood his silence, and started to button up her jacket. "I refilled your flask with some water. There's a stream not too far north, and I noticed some fish underwater, so you don't have to worry about breakfast. I would have made a fire, but we're surrounded by trees, and the smoke could give away your location so you can just charm the food to cook." She pulled her hair into a ponytail quickly, before leaning down and strapping up her laces. "Your hand's almost healed, but you should bandage it just in case any cuts reopen. Oh, and I borrowed a book—"

"—What are you doing?" He stared at her, his blood pumping rapidly in his ears. All the things she said whirled in his head, making him almost dizzy.

"Leaving."

"You're just going to—what, find somewhere to hide? Without food, or water or any sort of shelter, you're just going to walk towards your death?"

"I can manage on my own, Ferret." She narrowed her eyes at him sharply, shouldering her bag and brushing her trousers off as she stood. "I'm not some princess who needs rescuing from the big bad forest." Her eyebrows rose. "Besides, you don't give a shit, so why bother?"

"Just because I don't give a shit doesn't mean you're going to go commit fucking suicide out there."

"One less Mudblood to taint the world, then."

There was a bitter taste in his mouth. "What in Merlin has gotten into you, Granger?"

"_Reality_, Malfoy!" She yelled, eyes widening and cheeks flushing with frustration at his bipolar attitude. "And the reality is; we can't stand being in the same room together without ripping each other's throats out."

"What a revelation that is." He spat out, unable to decipher what it was he wanted. She rolled her eyes and stalked towards the entrance, her head held as high as she proceeded to her doom.

Swiftly, Draco blocked her way. Crossing his arms and sneering down at her, he watched as she widened her eyes in surprise.

"There's a thin line between bravery and idiocy, Gryffindor; and you're straddling it."

"_Godric_, Malfoy. Will you just choose who you want to be, already?" Her arms were up in the air, flailing about as she tried to prove her point. "You either want me to stay, or you don't."

"I'm indifferent."

"There's that then." Panic began to spread through her bones, much more evident now than before as the anger clouded it. She really had no plan, no idea, no way to ensure her safety alone. "Now, if you will be so kind as to _move_."

Biting back a curse, he calmed himself. She knew how to get right under his skin and how easily she affected him was frightening, to say the least. He found that really, after thinking about it, he didn't want her to go. He didn't want her to stay, per say, but the other option seemed worse for some reason. Squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to not fuck it up, he said one thing.

"Hogwarts."

She looked at him quizzically, unsure of what he meant. "What?"

"We're going to Hogwarts."

.

* * *

_So that was intense. It's my first time writing such scenes, so I hope it was decent. _

_I'm loving the feedback, you beautiful readers. Do tell me what you honestly think of everything, the characterisation, the writing, the events. I'm beyond glad that you're liking it though. It makes writing this worthwhile. _

_A lot of you probably have exams coming up, or currently happening, so I wish you the best of luck. Try not to compulsively procrastinate like me, and remember: there's always a piece of Dauntless cake on the other side, so soldier on. _

_If that book reference didn't make sense to you, then I'm sorry for making you Google it. _

_Anywho, tell me what you thought!_

_Always,  
_—_ LiveLoveLaugh._


	5. Naked

**Show me that you're human, you won't break,  
Oh, love your flaws and live for your mistakes,  
Beauty's on the surface wearing thin,  
Come closer show the marks upon your skin.**

**— "Human", Gabrielle Aplin. **

* * *

.

Hermione didn't pry.

Curiosity had always been a trait and a subsequent weakness, but she didn't find invading privacy a way to sate it. Her interest would spark whenever someone would talk of a good book, or a riveting debate would occur, although she never went out of her way to get involved with someone she had no business to.

Though now, living with Draco Malfoy, she had to say she felt curiosity prick at her better judgement.

The minute her eyes opened, she realised she'd slept through most of the day. They'd moved yet _again, _and she was surprised to find him still awake, by the make-shift study, looking very busy. Pulling her tired limbs up off the floor, she tried not to stumble on her way towards him.

"What time is it?" Hermione croaked, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand.

He didn't even spare her a glance, too engrossed with the maps and books open on the desk. His lazy scrawl ran along a page of a leather-bound notebook, and his eyes darted from scroll to scroll. "Late."

She leaned against the curtain, running fingers through her messy hair. She picked a small leaf from her frizzy locks, and stared down at it in disgust. _Merlin_, she had to take a bath, a shower, _anything_ to get rid of the stickiness she felt. Grabbing her bag, Hermione fished out a change of clothes. A sweater without a shirt to accompany it, and jeans. Her eyes roamed the tent for any signs of a towel she could use.

"Don't you have a towel?"

"Don't you have a wand?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed defeatedly, massaging her throbbing headache. "Throw me a bone, Malfoy."

"Here. Go fetch." He looked up momentarily, pulling something out from a drawer and throwing it in her general direction. The object sliced through the air, and she unceremoniously caught it in fumbling hands.

Her wand. Oh, just typical of him to take it while she was asleep. She pointed it at him, whispering under her breath and smiling when the swelling began on his arm.

He looked down at it in alarm, quickly recognising the Stinging Hex. "What the fu—" His eyes rose to hers in allegation. "—you _bitch._"

"It's rude to take other people's things, Ferret."

She walked out of his line of sight and towards the bathroom, clothes and wand in hand, listening to his string of curses as he reversed the spell quickly. There was really no need for the tantrum. It was the nicest of the fantasies she'd had about teaching him a lesson. He should've been thankful.

Drawing the curtain separating the bathroom to the main level to a close, she prayed he'd realise she was occupying it and wouldn't barge in. There was no way to secure her privacy, and even if she did use magic for some sort of wards, he'd cut through them with some sort of suspicion or conspiracy theory.

Hermione dropped her belongings by the sink, perching herself on the edge of the bath. Her thoughts had been revolving around the snarky blond very much recently. It scared her. It was one thing to wonder about the Death Eater who saved you and provided you with rivetting arguments, discrimination and shelter. It was another to constantly think about the reasons for his switching of sides. It wasn't a random thought he decided to act upon. Something had led him to the decision, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was.

There her thoughts went again, spiralling out of control and flying out of her reach before she even got a glance at where they went.

She started to doubt her opinion on him, especially through these last few days. It was a little terrifying, and a little exhilarating, if she were to tell you the truth. Draco Malfoy was always the pompous, rich, mudblood-despising cunt that taunted her for as long as she could remember. Hermione had no idea who this focused, confident and annoyingly witty though similarly spoilt and cunt-ish boy was. Part of her wanted to find out, cut through the layers and figure out who exactly was inhabiting the Malfoy's body.

Once her worn-out clothes dropped to the floor, a rush of cool air hit her bare skin. The water had magically filled up the bath, sensing her presence. She dipped her fingers into the steaming water, revelling in the heat it provided, before performing wandless magic and easily adding enough soap to get jasmine-scented bubbles and foam floating atop the surface. Well aware of how much of a privelege it was to have such a luxury during dire times, Hermione made sure she was to enjoy every second of it.

Climbing over the edge, she slid herself into the bathwater. It welcomed her with slowly enlarging ripples as it shaped and moulded around her. She leaned against a wall, her feet brushing the floor of the pool as her eyes drooped, lulled into serenity with the warmth.

"_Oh_."

.

* * *

.

She'd been in heaven for at least half an hour now.

Hermione's worries seemed to sizzle away as the heat seeped through her skin and the soap rubbed away her scars. Her thoughts were neither here nor there, too enclosed in a fog of peace. She did think of her best friends, however. Harry and Ron and how they must be doing _swell_ on their mission. _Merlin_. Honestly, how would they survive without her? No. No, Hermione. There was no use being pessimistic. She had to buckle up and deal with the unforeseen circumstances.

Godric, she should have brought a book.

Well, it was as an opportune time as any other to get her thoughts sorted out. She might as well make use of her time alone. She had to figure out her opinion on Draco Malfoy, savior and kidnapper, some time. It was a little fuzzy.

"Granger, are you fucking _done_ yet?" Came a thoroughly annoyed voice from the other side of the curtain.

His sudden intrusion made her jump, her eyes snapping open and her senses all instantly on alert. Her privacy was great while it lasted, that was for sure.

"You must have realised," He started. "The filth you are so desperately trying to scrub off, is in fact—"

"—Fuck off, Malfoy."

"I hate to break it to you, Granger. But the only way to rid yourself of your dirty blood, is to bleed yourself dry."

His words hit her ears, but her mind had become so accustomed to his rants, it disposed of them instantly. She sighed, pulling herself up and out of the aquatic haven into the chilly air. She yanked her wand close, making a towel out of thin air as she was suddenly too cold to think about clothing.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind being the one to do it." He paused, and she could picture that smart-arse smirk settled on his lips. "But I reckon that would take up a lot of my immensely valuable time. However _dirty_—"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his slow drawl, too distracted by his words to think about attire. He'd interrupted the first moment of real peace she'd had in years, insulted her blood and heritage, and suggested suicide techniques. Her nerves had thoroughly been stomped on. Without registering a logical thought, she padded over to the curtain separating them, and yanked it to the side in her hissy fit.

He was leaning against the tent wall, lips parted to form sentences, when the sight of her knocked him out for six. Wide eyes roamed down the Gryffindor's scantily clad body: a towel much too small to be deserving off the title, held in place by small fisted hands with fingers bitten down to the quick and wrapped around her middle, barely covered her from just below her shoulder blades, to mid-thigh. Draco's mind blanked, his sense of awareness plummeting and his pupils tried to fathom what was before him. He had to close his mouth, for it had become suddenly dry with all the gawking.

"I'm getting quite sick of this routine, Malfoy." Hermione spat, solely focused on her anger.

It was quite hard, to say the least, to focus on what she was saying when a feeble excuse for a towel was all she wore. He blinked, hoping he had imagined the sinful sight, but when his eyes reopened, the brunette was still seething at him, water dripping on the floor, damp hair sticking to her exposed neck and collarbone, droplets of moisture pebbling her 'dirty' skin. Her legs were bare, scratched up and the bruises slowly disappearing. The scratches and cuts on her arms were healing too, but they were very much visible across her fair skin.

Battle scars.

"Well, say something then." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was prone to sharp retorts, and why he wasn't spewing them out like a second nature perplexed her. Her lips twitched up in a cold smile as she tried to understand this behaviour. "Malfoy, shocked into silence? Alert the Daily Prophet."

A drop of water trickled down her neck, over her clavicle, dipping into the gap hidden beneath her towel.

She followed his gaze, and the second it clicked in her head, all the heat left in her body seemed to rush to her skin, painting it a deep red.

"I—I—" Her widened eyes rose to meet his amused ones, and his softened unnaturally once he'd for some reason noticed the sudden glazing of them. "—_Christ_, Malfoy—_stop_—you, you _pervert_."

He almost laughed at her; _he_ wasn't the one standing there dripping wet in a cloth. What did she expect, for him to cover his eyes and turn around? He wasn't a shy bloke, and he certainly was not one to give up a view.

"I'm merely spectating what you've put on show." The words came tumbling out, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth from being trapped for so long.

"You're utterly disgusting." Hermione bit out, searching for wand, but at the same time clutching to her towel tightly, making it quite hard to do any real searching.

"Oh save it." He smirked, having far too much fun to stop now. "I've finally discovered why Pothead and Weasel follow you around like lost dogs; spare me the innocent act, will you?"

"How _dare_ you." Her breaths came out in rough pants through clenched teeth. Her heart raced uncharacteristically, probably from fear rather than his intense gaze.

Draco stepped up a stair, mind whirling with the scent she seemed to ooze invading his senses. And he hated it. He hated that the mere sight of her almost naked had him dumbstruck and witless, when he'd seen more than enough naked girls to last him a while. He fucking _hated_ her.

"No, how dare _you_." Another step. "You must be pretty fucking delusional if you think I would look at a _mudblood_ twice." His eyes slid down her body slowly, deliberately —his mind memorising everything in sight with a sort of hunger that scared him— and a forced scowl adopted his lips. "Even if she is practically naked and _begging_ for attention."

Her retort was somewhat a choke caught in her throat, so she stared at him numbly. The words didn't bounce off her as she'd expected. No. She absorbed every syllable, and every one was a prick at her exposed skin. She was at her most vulnerable and he decided to take advantage. How typically Malfoy.

But then he stepped onto the final step, reaching his height and looming above her. His wand was swiftly taken out from a hidden pocket within his robes, and in a flash, she was fully dressed in the clothes she'd intended on wearing after her wash. She looked down in disbelief. The tip of the wand only came closer however, until it was still hot with energy under her chin, tilting it up until their eyes locked.

"Chin up." He murmured, his voice as cold as ever, his wand pressing into her skin. "Acceptance is the first stage in coming to terms with your worth." Draco dipped his head just a little lower, lips millimeters away from her ear as he spoke. "Which, we both know, is _pretty fucking miniscule_."

The second he'd walked past her, his back to her steely gaze, she whipped out her wand, hurling a paralysing curse towards his body. She shook off the unmentionable shivers when he'd breathed against her cool skin, narrowing all her focus onto the task at hand. The bright curse flew right at him, but the blasted reflexes of a Seeker saved him as he ducked just in time, missing it by inches.

He turned towards her, armed with a wand, slow, deliberate, predatory.

The grip on her wand was tight enough to make her fist shake. But shaking would not do. Not when she had to come across as undeniably dangerous at the moment. Her eyes glazed over red as she looked him over; eyes narrowed, lips fixed in a sneer.

Malfoy caught her eyes and didn't let go.

One—two—four seconds their eyes held, an unspoken, undeniable challenge passing in the space between them as they stood each other off.

"I win," Hermione began her preposition, trying her very best not to stutter. "You apologise, and promise to never address me as anything but your equal, if not superior."

His lips curled in a smirk at the strong words of a Gryffindor girl belonging in Slytherin. "When _I_ win, you shut that little mouth of yours whenever I'm in an hundred mile radius, until one of us dies."

"A tad morbid, don't you think." She murmured distantly, mind reeling as she figured out what techniques she would have to pull out of the bag.

"Better morbid than pure fantasy." He stated calmly, referring to her ridiculous terms. "Besides, I think it's rather generous of me, since the odds are _so very much_ in my favour."

Four—no _five_ seconds of stand-off.

She was the first to burst into action, hurtling a curse in his direction. He blocked it swiftly, advancing on with a hex missing her with a tilt of her body. Hermione didn't get a chance to be impressed by his aim, as she was already sending a hex his way, trying to find a shield of some sort. Deciding to break into a sprint purely to catch him off guard, she found her plan worked.

Finding an opening while he was still trying to follow her with his seeking eyes, she ducked behind his desk.

Something in her was alight with life, and she knew this wasn't a _real_ fight-to-the-death. It felt like a game. As Hermione crouched there, half panting, half smiling, she realised she was _exhilarated_. Her heart was beating frantically fast and her blood was hot in her veins. He managed to keep up intellectual banter with her, but she didn't expect a challenge when it came to spells.

"_Hiding_, Granger?"

"Giving you an escape, actually." She called back, the corners of her lips twitching up as she heard a soft chuckle, quite and so genuine that she had to poke her head up to see it for herself. Eyes searched for the blond twonk, but she only saw emptiness, and when she had turned her attention away from the rest of the tent, back to her view of the makeshift study, her heart almost stopped.

He was right in front of her, crouched and smirking that God-awful, attractive smirk, wand at the ready. He braced a hand on the wood of the desk next to her head, and leaned in slightly, when her logic awoke and she had her wand to his throat in seconds, stopping him short.

They were inches away, knees almost brushing, breaths mingling as they panted with the adrenaline, wands aimed at each others' necks.

Her eyes found his, and it wasn't the exercise that had her heart beating erratically now, _no_. It was something much deeper, much too scary to address and all too easy to ignore. Admittedly, it was difficult, with his gaze focused and deathly _intense_.

Her wand flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor.

The Gryffindor's jaw dropped in utter disbelief. He didn't even utter a word, let alone a spell to carry out that enchantment. She was grasping at her, but much too surprised to reposition her fingers, she merely blinked at him, angry and jealous and curious all at once.

"Your move." Draco whispered, the tip of his wand grazing her jaw so tentatively, a shiver trickled down her spine, settling at the base where her nerves bundled up.

Hermione gnawed at her bottom lip, casting her eyes away to find the words. "_How—_did you do that?"

He raised an eyebrow. After a moment of thinking it over, he decided she _was_ in fact the one without knowledge at the moment, running his wand across her jaw. Her toes curled instinctively at the light action, and he wasn't even _touching_ her. He knew she was questioning his wandless magic earlier, and it was a goddamn accomplishment to know something Hermione Granger didn't.

The corner of his lips twitched up into a victorious smirk. "The Brightest Witch of Her Age doesn't know a measly wandless spell?"

A hot blush blossomed in her cheeks, and eyes cast downwards in slight shame.

He cocked his head, studying her. It seemed as if he'd just yanked her off her high horse, and nothing could make him more smug. A dozen insults and mocking comments sprouted in his head at this glorious moment, but the only words he heard himself say were, "You learn a thing or two when you're surrounded by masters of the dark arts."

Unable to endure himself after uttering that, he pushed himself up to his feet, stalking away from her.

"Malfoy_—_" She began, lifting herself up and treading towards him.

"—Not a word, Granger." He interrupted, furious once again. How could he have gotten so close to her. Close enough to _touch_. She was driving him crazy, and he wasn't going to stand for any of her manipulation bollocks. Hermione glared at him sharply, lips fixed into a scowl that screamed a challenge. He smirked, not because he wanted to piss her off, though that was a bonus, but because he rather liked seeing her angry. "You remember the terms. You keep that gob shut until I get stupid enough to let you speak again."

Her middle finger flew up in response.

.

* * *

_I don't think I can apologise enough for being practically dead for the last three months. I don't have a real excuse, and I'm not going to waste your time with one because I can spend that time writing more for you bloody brilliant readers - I can't believe you haven't given up on me, and I am forever grateful. I adore you people, and I am beyond guilty for keeping you waiting so long for a chapter that doesn't even have smut in it! Please search deep in those wonderfully large hearts and try to forgive me?_

_Review, that is, if you still remember me or this story. _

_Always,_  
_- LiveLoveLaugh. _


End file.
